Behind a Screen
by SlightlyStrangeGirl
Summary: Once upon a time, in two different lands behind two different computer screens, there typed two different teenagers: One bipolar boy and one schizophrenic girl. Both shared a cynical mind, sad lives and a love for numbers and equations. Maybe there is more to life than this. (TeenLock)
1. Tuesdays

Behind the Screen

Caroline

_'No matter how gifted you are, alone you cannot change the world.'_

_- L change the world_

I hated Mrs Funnel. My English teacher. She was a tall, skinny woman, with short blonde hair that sort of stuck to her skull in this clump of greasy string. I hated her black pencilled on eyebrows that were always pulled down over her nasty glare, and I hated that I always got the questions she asked me wrong. That Tuesday was no different.

The sky outside was its usual sheet of eternal grey, with the occasional pathetic drizzle of rain hitting the roof with a loud clang, and our bench outside was damp and cold. I sat next to one of three dirty windows with Steven, contently doodling intricate flowers on my notebook under the desk like I had been doing for the last twenty minutes.

Her beady eyes landed on me.

"Miss Caroline Clare." My head snapped up. That's another thing I hated about her. She always used our full names, like her fat mouth couldn't keep the words down or something.

"Yes Miss?"

"What's the answer?" She snapped as she whacked her pointer stick against the whiteboard. I flinched and looked at the question. Like always, I didn't understand. Something about clauses... or some nonsense. And there was this weird punctuation mark that looked like someone winking. She smiled at me. Another thing I hated: When she smiled, her face scrunched up too much and her drawn on eyebrows like, lifted up a bit and made her look angry and drunk at the same time.

"Uh... The um... Punctuation mark there," I jabbed a finger at the winky thing.

"Should be there..?"I tried, jabbing my finger some place near the start of the sentence. Some of the class sighed. She glared so hard I thought her eyes might pop out.

"That was the question we answered half an hour ago." Someone behind me snickered. Jerk.

"And, you still got it wrong."

"Oh..." I said, looking down from her freaky expression admiring the, surprisingly well done, doodle of flowers on my lap.

"Miss Caroline Clare. If you don't pay attention in my lessons, how do expect to be successful like me? When I was your age I was always..." Getting full marks on all your tests and paying 100% attention in everything you do? Yep, we know. And now you're a complete success. Working in a class full of nutjobs like me, and taking out your sucky life on us poor kids.

I'll save you the lecture, but thanks to me, we spent the rest of the lesson sighing and groaning as Mrs Funnel dragged out her entire. life. story. again. To every. last. detail. About how she recovered from her severe depression as a fourteen year old, and about how she went some place in America nobody's heard of before, and about how she was taught how to teach and then decided to 'help' poor failures as unlucky as us. We listened to it all over again.

Thankfully, the bell rang.

"Remember to finish your homework assignments." She glared at me again as I shoved my exercise book into my ripped bag. I can't imagine why.

* * *

><p>"That was very interesting don't you think?" Steven remarked as we left, me hunched over with my hair in my eyes and taking the concrete steps two at a time. Once out of ear-shot I replied:<p>

"The only time I would find that interesting is if Mrs Funnel dropped dead and I was the one who shot her." Steven rolled his eyes at me.

"Oh well. But now I've got to decide whether to wear pink or purple to my date with Toby tonight!" He exclaimed like a fangirl. I sighed.

Steven wasn't the lamest guy in the whole school, but he very nearly was. The only person ahead of him on the level of lameness scale was Creepy Kurt who took pride in his green, oozing acne and a mouldy belly button. He was however, the gayest guy in the school. Which wasn't bad thing, but it wasn't really a great thing either.

It meant he dragged me out shopping for bow ties, blazers and dress trousers. It meant he always. looked. smart. no matter. what. He'd once refused to go to Tescos with me because he wasn't dressed in a suit. It also seemed to mean that he couldn't last more than a week without a boyfriend. But going by other gay people I've met, these things only seem to apply to Steven. Lucky me.

"Didn't you go out last night?" I said.

"Duh! Obviously! We go out every night." Ouch. That must cost a bit...

"Well, what did you wear last night?" I asked.

"I wore the green tie with the brown jacket. Do you think I should wear make-up? I've read somewhere that some mascara can really play up your eyes..." He started babbling on about 'inner beauty' or something, and I just watched him with envy as he smiled, laughed and joked like he was ordinary. Steven was, I suppose, in many ways more normal than anyone else in our class of outcasts. The only thing that held him back was his tourettes. But lately, he'd been controlling it so well, I was pretty sure he wouldn't be stuck with the freaks like me any more.

He looked normal too, with blonde hair that was always scraped back with gel, and a blue eyes that always had the hint of a smile in them. I suppose he was handsome. But I never really paid much attention. He was more like an annoying brother to me.

"Where's Greg got to?" I say when we're standing under the bike shelter, me absent mindedly fiddling with the chain.

"Dunno. Maybe he can help me choose." He held up two bow ties that looked identical. I snorted.

"Yep. Greg knows so much about fashion." I said.

"Hey! I know there's a feminine side in him somewhere!" He teased, grinning and elbowing me playfully. I smiled for the first time that day. At that second Greg arrived from his 'normal' classes.

"Hey guys." He said tiredly, dangling his bike keys in his right hand and unchaining his blue bike. I copied.

"Where have you BEEN? I need your opinion on these ties." Greg raised a faded eyebrow. I shook my head at him. He sighed.

"I don't understand why you ask me. They're identical!" He pointed out.

"WHAT!? Are you blind? Look at these tags! One's obviously designer and one's obviously from a charity store!"

"Wear the designer one then." I suggested, as I moved my old bike out of the shed.

"Yes, but what if he thinks that it means I'm serious about us? What if he isn't? After all we've only been seeing each other for a few weeks."

"Yes, and since then you've made out on a lab table in front of a teacher, suggested moving in together and spent possibly thousands of pounds on dinner. If that's not serious, then what is?" Greg said. I nodded my head in agreement as I mounted the bike and started down the road with them either side of me. Steven always walked, so me and Greg biked slowly so he could keep up.

"Hey! In my defence, I didn't know the teacher was there until she coughed, and true love is expensive now a days." He said. Greg rolled his eyes.

"Well, you wouldn't understand because you're always to busy studing. Aren't I right Carry?" He said turning to me in my too-big grey hoddie, with the hood that covered most of my ugly pale face and my boring brown hair that covered my dull grey eyes. I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah sure. I mean, I've fallen in love TONS of times." I said. Greg smirked. Steven glared.

"One day you will fall in love my friends, and you shall see that I'm right!" He remarked. I scoffed. I never believed the 'true love' crap for a second, and no way was I starting now. I refused to become one of those useless girls that slobberd over tall, beautiful guys in jeans. No way. Instead of replying, I rolled my eyes as well as Greg who groaned and face-palmed, nearly loosing control of his bike momentarily.

"You can groan and roll your eyes as much as you like, one day you too will find yourselves fantasising about their beautiful eyes and amazing arse! Steven Holster is always right!" He yelled pumping a triumphant fist in the air. Greg snorted and I pretended to vomit.

"Laters!" He called, waving at us as he turned down a dark alleyway. I watched him go, then sped up next to Greg, watching the world fly past in a welcoming blur.

"How're the new meds going?" Greg shouted over the wind.

"Okay I guess. I mean, I'm on more drugs than my brother but at least mine are legal." I called back. He gave me a sympathetic smile and I concentrated on the road ahead.

"It'll get better. I'll see you tomorrow." He replied as he turned right down a small estate where everything looks the same and everyone acts the same and difference doesn't exist.

"See you." I said quietly after he'd left. I sped up further.

As normal, I just wanted to go to my room and draw depressing pictures of my _real_ home with my _real_ friends to escape the noisy world around me. And as normal, the only person I wanted to talk to was a stranger behind a computer screen.

And that was my life. I went to school. Got bored. Went home. And messaged a boy called: 'theimprobableone' on 'Text2Talk.' Well, he wasn't really called that, but I didn't know his real name. In fact, I didn't know anything about him. And that's why it was so easy.

**Hello there! Welcome to my story. Chances are, everyone's probably sick to death of all the OC stories seeing as there's so many of them and all. But this odd idea just sort of popped up out of no where, so I just thought, why not? This is a TeenLock, and yes, it will include John, Molly, Mycroft and Lestrade. Because I love them all too much! So I hope you enjoyed it, and please review and favourite :) Thanks for reading! (Oh, and Text2Talk isn't real, I made it up. Which is why it's such a lame name for a social networking site.) Oh and I don't own Sherlock... STOP REMINDING ME.**


	2. Friends

Sherlock

_To love is to destroy._

_-Mortal Instruments_

"So Sherlock, how's John?"

"The same."

"Talked to him lately."

I shrugged and poked at the gristle on the beef. I hadn't talked to john in weeks. Or anyone really. I didn't care. I'd rather spend my long days inside my room than face other people. I didn't care for questions about my health or whatever.

"Have you taken your medication yet?" Dad asked.

"Wouldn't I be hanging myself with a belt if I hadn't?" I snapped. Mummy glared.

"Joke, joke." I said waving it off.

This was how it'd been since a month ago, when they'd finally released me from hell. Or rehab. Whichever you want to call it. Though, it's defiantly closer to hell. Hell without the fiery pits, but with the wrath and desperation, all bundled up into a little heap of joy. Yep. That sounded like my life.

Unfortunately, my family didn't see it that way.

Ever since the drugs, death and diagnosis, they've been hovering over my shoulders like irritating buzzing insects, entering my room without knocking, smiling too often and stuffing anti-depressants down my sore throat. Even Mycroft had been making a show of 'caring'. It was a nightmare.

What made matters worse was my friends.

If I'm honest, as far as loyalty was concerned, my friends couldn't have been better. They never once left my side after rehab, LITERALLY, they always kept me out of trouble, ANY sort of trouble, and they never let go of me through my darkest moments, LITERALLY. It annoyed me. As much as I appreciated their friendly concern, I wasn't one for spending time with friends. Or anyone for that matter. I just wasn't bothered. People held little, next to no interest to me. All proved to be useless, easily manipulated and stupid. To me, they were all just tools. Tools that were a necessary burden if I wanted to survive through life. That's all my friends were. That's it. Nothing more. Nothing.

Yet, for some reason, three hours after a cold dinner with my family, I found myself huddled up next to Molly Hooper, John Watson and Jim Moriarty, under a paper thin blanket for warmth, in some dusty forest, cobwebs swinging from the braches drooping over us dangerously low, and plotting a nasty revenge on Molly's ex.

"You could always just ignore him you know." John suggested, his sandy hair brushing his eyebrows as he stretched his arms out.

"Where's the fun in that?" Jim replied, handing Molly another tissue as she snivelled into my shoulder, leaving trails of snotty gunge. John scowled at him.

"What?" He asked innocently.

"I just… really hate him." Molly stuttered through sobs. John, who was on the other side of her, rubbed her back comfortingly. I tried to ignore them. They were nothing to me after all.

"Who doesn't? I mean, come on, nobody could possible like someone who wears _that_ badly woven scarf!" Jim blurted out from my right. I rolled my eyes.

"Erm… Molly made him that…" John trailed off. Jim started stuttering some lame apology. I fazed out, watching the way the bark of the trees tangled around itself, the way her scarf had done once. Now the thing was most likely 100 feet underfoot, buried amongst all the other neglected items people chucked to waste each day. I carried on ignoring them.

It hadn't always been this way for the four of us.

The woods hadn't been always been the meeting place for us before my 'accident'. But ever since then, they've been extra careful to stay away from anywhere that could possibly tempt me back. I understood it was for my own safety of whatever, but sitting in a damp, cold forest at 7pm, wasn't particularly comfortable, especially when Molly was going through yet another one of her break-ups, which always ended with some jerk snogging a blonde moron, with a tiny IQ and bad plastic surgery.

"Isn't that right Sherlock?" John said. I ignored him.

"Sherlock." He hissed, prodding me. I exhaled, and turned to him, shrugging; I had no clue what they were talking about. Probably some drivel about her being better than Stella, or whatever the new girlfriend was called.

"Molly can do better right?" He repeated. I looked down at Molly and tried not to raise an eyebrow at her appearance. That would most likely be more than A Bit Not Good.

She hunched next to me, clinging onto my coat like some sort of barnacle, and sobbing silently into the tiny fists of material she held. Her auburn hair was a heap of string on her head, and she looked more like a panda than a human being.

I sighed and looked away. Jim patted my shoulder as a friendly gesture. I shook him off.

It hadn't always been like this either. Before any of the 'stuff' happened, I would have been plotting a terrible fate for her ex with my four friends, and feeling like I wanted to personally rip the guys throat out for ever going near Molly. But now, I just didn't care anymore. The minutes were unbearably long, but the days were terrifyingly short, and it was getting tougher and tougher to care enough to keep breathing.

My friends all turned to look at me. I stared at a muddy leaf by my feet. I didn't want another 'talk'.

"I'm going." I mutter, getting up to leave and brushing bits of leaf from my long coat.

"Sherlock, wait." Molly sobbed. I stopped without turning around.

"Thankyou." She snivelled.

Then I did the only thing I seemed capable of doing.

I ran away.

I ran until the mouldy trees became a blur of green and browns.

I ran until tears streamed down my face.

I ran until my lungs were on fire.

I ran until the rush of the wind drowned out any sound, thought, or voice.

I ran because it was the easiest thing to do.

Eventually, I stopped. Bending over, I put my hands on my knees, as I tried to catch my breath. Then looked up.

I frowned.

In front of me, was an overgrown gap in the trees, laced with vines and decorated with dead flowers, hanging limp in the cold air. The trees surrounding it were bare, cold and uninviting, and the air stank of damp like the rest of the forest. I trudged over to the small gap and snapped some branches out of the way to get a look inside. Poking my head through the hole, I glanced around.

A field. An overgrown field, with dead flowers everywhere, and a muddy stream flowing slowly down the side, reflecting the grey sky above my head. The grass under my shoes was slippery, and wet like the rest of the forest but wasn't coated in fungi infested leaves, and in the centre of the field, was a lake.

The lake looked deep from where I stood, the grey clouds sparkling in on its shiny surface, and weeds around it trailing in the water, leaving ripples as the wind blew. A broken fence lied on the slimy grass around the lake, rotten and brown, while a tiny island of land floated in the very centre, covered with grass and weeds.

I shrugged, took out my mobile, and laid down.

Opening 'Text2Talk', I clicked on the only friendly name I knew of.

lifeofalooser: hey

theimprobableone: hello

lifeofalooser: you okay?

theimprobableone: not really. you?

lifeofalooser: not great. what's up?

theimprobableone: friends are being too friendly as normal. you?

lifeofalooser: oh yeah. that can suck. school is just crappy as usual.

theimprobableone: it does. plus one of them just had another breakup.

lifeofalooser: one of mine wanted fashion advice for their date. of course, I was very insightful.

theimprobableone: i bet. I don't understand everyone's obsession with dating.

lifeofalooser: nope me neither. all of them end in heartbreak or whatever at the end. whats the point?

theimprobableone: maybe it's one of those rule things.

lifeofalooser: maybe. in that case, i'm in trouble J

theimprobableone: me too

Our conversation went on for hours. Me lying in damp grass, not really caring about the fact my coat was now cold and wet, or the fact that I was talking to some stranger who could be a mass murderer or something, but instead relieved that the only thing I had to care about was the meaningless conversation I was reading and typing.

Soon it was dark.

The stars were out, and we were both lying under the same sky in different places, seeing the same things, the same shapes, the same stories.

And when I got home that evening,

I smiled for the first time in weeks.

**Awwww! That was fun to write ****J****It's really tough writing from Sherlock's point of view, but I think I did okay. Also, in this, Sherlock isn't himself because of his bi-polar and stuff, which is why he's a bit more 'sentimental' than his usual robotic self. Oh, and the story is kind of going a bit slow at the moment, but it will speed up later ****J****Please review and favourite? It really makes my day :D Thanks!**


	3. Therapy

Caroline

_Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler_

_-Albert Einstein_

My alarm screeched at me to get out of bed.

I ignored it.

"CAROLINE? CAROLINE GET UP!" Mum yelled from downstairs. I hid deeper into my bed. It wasn't worth getting up.

"CAROLINE!" She stomped up the noisy stairs, shaking the walls of our small house. I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Caroline sweetheart, you have to get up. You've got therapy today." She said gently, nudging the door to my room open and shuffling towards my bed. I peeped out from under my purple covers, she smiled down at me.

I frowned.

Mum and I had nothing in common. Her hair was a gorgeous toffee blonde, that laid in elegant wavy layers around her pretty face, unlike mine which hung from my head in dull brown clumps, which I hid with a hoodie. Above her thin nose, dotted with pale freckles, sat her blue flecked eyes, swirling with vibrancy and colour, opposed to my muddy green ones, and the corners of her pink mouth were always turned up slightly, unlike mine which stayed in a straight line.

I put on my happy facade.

"Ugh. Do I have to go?" I groaned, rolling onto my side and watching the empty fishtank in the corner of the room reflecting the cold sun outside my bare window.

"Yes. Now come on! Up!" She repeated, jabbing me in my sides playfully. I faked a laugh.

"I'll do the washing up if I don't have to go?"

"No. Now get up!" She insisted, jumping from my bed and grabbing a T-Shirt and blue jeans from my wardrobe and chucking them at me. I buried my face in the warm pillow, letting my smile drop.

"These classes make me suicidal!" I exclaimed. She laughed and rolled her eyes, but I wasn't actually joking.

"Come on, five minutes. Don't forget your meds!" She added and gently closed the door behind her.

My entire body slumped.

Keeping my face in my pillow, I fumbled around on the bedside cabinet for the tiny bottle of white pills, my warm fingers met with the cold plastic of their case.

Not bothering to look up, I popped the cap off and tipped out what felt like two capsules, and pressed the lid back on, dropping the case to the floor. I sat up and blinked groggily.

My bedroom was tiny like the rest of our cheap house. On the walls were posters of bands I used to like years ago, some sketches I'd painted when I was thirteen, and the occasional scrap of peeling blue paint hanging from my old wallpaper. My small single bed used up half of the space in the room, my window next to it, and the rest was taken up by my matted cream carpet covered in papers filled with equations and my in the corner was my battered cello.

It was a mess.

Rubbing my eyes, I reached for the glass of warm water next to me, dropped the disgusting meds in my mouth, swallowed hard, then grabbed my clothes and yanked off my pyjamas.

_Therapy…_

My pulse stuttered just at the word.

Therapy was hell. Absolute hell.

It wasn't the 'nice' sort of therapy, where you get your own room, a comfy chair and a kind listener, to cry in front of and spill your troubles shamelessly to. Because that sort of therapy costs money. And money doesn't grow on trees. So instead, I'm dragged off to a small memorial hall every Saturday morning, containing about twelve depressed teenagers, with hair covering their eyes, hard plastic stools with crude symbols scribbled on them, and sad children's drawings with houses and dinosaurs.

The leader of our pathetic clan of losers was this guy called Dan.

Obviously, it was a volunteer job, so he was a pretty nice guy really. He had shoulder length frizzy hair, brown sparkling eyes, and a long nose. He was a strange looking man, but he was alright.

Every Saturday, the twelve of us would shuffle or stomp in, heads bent low, hair in our faces, and he would sit us round in a 'cosy' circle with him in the centre, and one by one we'd share our sad little life stories.

And everyone lied.

Everyone.

Me included.

Because the more you tell a lie, the more you start to believe it yourself, and honestly, lying to myself is the only way to get better.

"Come on Caroline, we're going to be late!" Mum called from downstairs.

"Give me a sec." I yelled back, dragging a black hairbrush through my hair and glancing in the mirror at my exhausted face.

I looked away immediately.

Then I pulled my cheap shoulder bag on, shoved my arms through my cheap red coat and left our cheap excuse for a house. Then crawled into our cheap car as Mum reversed out of our driveway, and onto the empty road.

"Now Caroline, I know you don't like these sessions," _Understatement of the century_ I thought as I watched the world fly by in a blur of modern art.

"But they are really good for you. And the doctors agreed that it will help your condition." I took a deep breath, and put on my happy display.

"But Mum, I don't get on with anyone there, and I feel a lot better nowadays anyway." I said.

"Have you tried talking to anyone?"

"Not really."

"Well, maybe you should approach someone. Who knows, maybe you'll actually enjoy it then."

"Hm." I replied. Parents really don't get it do they?

Sadly, our conversation, forced on my end, stopped when we reached the grotty little building. I pretended to admire my bitten nails.

"Come on, out you get." She said smiling, nudging me with an elbow. I sighed and faked another smile before crawling out and into the grey parking lot, slamming the car door behind me. I waved at Mum and walked away, but not before she'd rolled her window down.

"Hey, make some friends!" She exclaimed from the car. I rolled my eyes and opened the heavy double doors leading into the hallway. I looked up at the clock to my right to find I only had five minutes, so I made my way to the elevator.

No one ever shared a lift there. If more than one person wanted to use it, the first person there would pretend not to see the second person waiting, then get in, leaving the person behind and looking directly through them. Then that person gets the next one.

I don't know why.

That was just the way it worked.

Thankfully, that wasn't usually a problem seeing as so little people actually turned up to the stupid group, and a lot who did just left when their parents weren't looking. I could've done that, but Mum would find out. And that would make her sad, disappointed and worried. Always worried.

I stabbed the button on the wall and listened to the roar as the lift plummeted to my level. I yawned and moved my stiff shoulders.

Then I saw him, well, part of him.

Someone stepped quietly next to me, tapping their foot on the tiles under our feet.

I ignored them.

And ignored them.

And stared at the lift button.

My curiosity intensified as the rhythm of his foot changed.

I wanted to look at him.

But I couldn't.

I figured it was defiantly a new kid. No one else here had the energy to make unnecessary movements like this person, tapping their foot arrogantly.

So who?

The elevator finally shut up and made the silence between us more awkward as its doors groaned open.

The person on my right stepped in front of me.

I know, that there is probably about a 0.0000001% chance that the world slowed down when I saw that guys face, in fact, it's probably less than that, but I swear, when I saw him, I felt the earth shiver beneath me.

His face was slightly too angular to be classed as cute, and his blue eyes far too piercing to be beautiful. Cheekbones stuck out of the sides of his pale face sharper than knives, on top of his head sat a mop of unruly curls that looked like they'd neither been washed nor brushed for weeks and he wore baggy jeans and a very long black coat with the collar turned up.

He looked like a mystery.

And I liked it.

And then he was gone.

The doors slid shut and lift boy was sent flying up towards the room of sad teens. I frowned as the world span normally again.

He didn't even talk to me.

He didn't even look at me.

He wasn't even attractive but for some stupid reason I gawked at him like a goldfish.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I didn't care. Of course I didn't care. So I just went into the elevator like normal, and entered the sad little room of weirdo's like me.

There were eleven of us today, all sat in a circle, well, except Freaky Freddy, but he didn't count because I'm not sure he knows what a circle is, and if we asked him to move, I'm pretty certain he wouldn't understand us.

Freaky Freddy sat huddled up in the far corner, the lights on his DS flashing in his black sleep-deprived eyes, Maddy was slouched in her chair stabbing the buttons on her pink mobile with another golden ring added to her collection of ear piercings and Gordon was looking bored, daydreaming about suicide or something sad as he vacantly stared at the window, everyone else just looked.. Well… Like any other teenager at a therapy session. Bored.

And in the corner was lift boy.

He slouched in his plastic chair, his lanky skinny figure draped over it like a sheet. The crazy black curls covered his cold eyes as he stared intently at the marked floor beneath him. I glanced away as his head suddenly snapped up at the sound of the door being opened.

"Good morning all!" Came Dan's happy voice. Always happy.

"How have you been keeping!?" Some people in the circle mumbled, Maddy rolled her eyes, and Freaky Freddy's head clicked up as he scanned the room like an owl. _Probably trying to remember where he is._

"Well! Let's get started then!" I closed my eyes for a moment. Then slowly opened them.

"Firstly, I'd like to introduce our newest member to the club, Sherlock Holmes." He gestured at lift boy who now had a name. Someone snorted.

"What kind of a name is S_herlock Holmes_?" A boy with blonde hair sneered.

"A more interesting one than _Ben_." Sherlock snapped. I covered my smirk with my hand as Dan shifted uncomfortably. Sherlock's voice was alarmingly low for someone so skinny and tired looking. It was a deep resonant sound that spread across the entire room, maybe even building and made us all listen for a moment longer before dropping back into our declined selves. I still didn't care so I stared at my shoes.

"Well Sherlock, why don't you tell us a bit about yourself?" Dan asked.

"Because I don't want to." He said bluntly, slouching further into his chair. Dan forced a smile.

"Oh well. You'll have plenty of time to get to know everyone." I sighed quietly, glancing casually around the room, wanting to look at Sherlock again and trying to be 'normal' about it. My eyes raked the sad kids drawings on the walls and the cracked roof above us before finally landing on him.

I stopped breathing.

I stopped moving.

I stopped calculating the different ways I could escape this hell-hold, and froze.

Because he was looking directly at me.

Like really directly.

Like so directly, my eyes felt like they were burning as he glowered into them, like he could see everything about me from just a glance. I felt like I'd been stripped naked or something, and was standing in front of everyone, letting the entire world see me.

But it was just one person.

And that scared the hell out of me.

He tilted his long face to the side as his eyes narrowed at me. I crossed my arms and stared shamefully back, watching the way the light danced in his ice eyes, and how the slight breeze from the ajar window tousled his hair a bit. And I didn't care. Not. One. Bit.

"So! I have a new activity today! We are going to get into pairs, and talk about how we're doing and how we can help the other person. Maddy, you can go with Ben, Gordon, you go with…" His words blurred out as I stared at Sherlock Holmes who's eyes were still fixed on mine.

"… And Sherlock, you can go with Caroline."

"What?"

**Hey guys! I am so so so sorry this update is late ****L****I have had an OVERLOAD of homework and tests to revise for. It sucks. Anyway, I wanted to get this chapter out as soon as possible, so forgive me if it's not up to its usual standard, I might go back and tweak a few minor phrasings and stuff if I have time. Also, I want to say a big thankyou to kll2683, who is helping me write about bipolar because I really don't know much about it /:-( and thankyou TwilightMortal for reviewing, and CHECK OUT HER STORIES! They are awesome :D Hopefully next update will be on time ****J****Oh, and yes, this chapter is a bit inspired by 'The fault in our stars' by John Green, because I love that book ****J**


	4. Ordinary?

Sherlock

_Once you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth_

_-Arthur Conan Doyle_

I broke my gaze from the skinny, ugly, boring, mundane, distracting girl in front of me to glare at Don. Or whatever his name was.

"Sorry, what?" I snapped.

"You can talk to Caroline here. I'm sure you'll get along well." He said with too much enthusiasm.

I turned back to _Caroline_ with an eyebrow raised. She raised one back. I think. But it was hard to tell underneath the ridiculous fringe.

Everyone around us moved to set chairs opposite each other, heads down, dead faces, and moving like puppets, oh, except the creepy kid in the corner. He didn't even seem to have realised that there were other people were in the room.

Glaring at Don, I dragged myself out of the plastic chair I dwarfed, shoved it backwards away from the others, and flopped down onto it, staring grumpily at a wall. I didn't actually expect her to follow. But she did.

She followed with her straight pale lips twitching slightly in annoyance as she noisily pulled her plastic chair over to sit opposite me. I looked at the ground, hoping it would swallow me up into a blissful, calm, empty nothingness. Obviously, it didn't.

Listening as she dropped into her chair, I looked up at her.

Most of the top bit of her stupid face was covered in a thick dark fringe, which hadn't been straightened, and lay in tangled whips, her nose was a bit above average size, dotted with freckles, and her lips were pale and unattractive, like everything else about her.

She screamed ordinary.

"What?" I snapped. She shrugged, and turned her gaze down to the floor. Dale spoke again.

"Now everyone, in this activity, each of you will introduce yourselves, be share some of your difficult times with your partner, and you'll both say how you're doing, and how you think you could feel better. Off you go!" Then he clapped, and urged us on with energetic hand gestures. I rolled my eyes at him.

"You go first."

I turned back to her.

She spoke so quietly, I nearly missed it, but the tiny quiver of her lips, and the soft light sound that penetrated the silence between us gave her away.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes. I'm 16. I was a crack addict. Now I'm just alive. I don't have 'difficult times', it should be obvious as to how I'm doing, seeing as I'm at this pathetic little group Don so _kindly_ calls a 'support group', and to feel better, I should get high. Your turn."

She frowned at me confused, before a look of realisation dawned on her.

"What?" I spat, crossing my arms over my chest. She closed her mouth, then leant back into her chair. _When had she sat forwards?_

"It's Dan." She muttered quietly, fiddling with a thread from her jeans.

"What?"

"It's Dan. Not Don." Oh.

"Same thing. Your turn."

She looked up again, but this time, brushed hair from her eyes so it sat as a side fringe rather than a wall of hair, glanced into my eyes, and the world froze to a standstill.

Because she wasn't mundane.

She wasn't normal.

And she defiantly wasn't boring.

Her eyes were a fascinating swirl of greens and browns, that reflected the lights above us in dazzling sparks and were elegantly framed with thick, dark lashes. Her nose had a slight turn at the end, and her upper-lip was dotted with a small freckle near the corner. She wasn't beautiful. She wasn't even pretty. But she was interesting.

So I hated her.

I closed my mouth and narrowed my eyes.

"Hurry up." I spat.

Pushing her hair back further, she glared at me.

"My name is Caroline. I'm also 16. I have schizophrenia, and I don't have 'difficult times' either. To make myself feel better, I should commit suicide, but apparently that isn't an option, so instead I spend my life higher than the Eifel tower on prescribed drugs. I'm fine." She retorted, leaning forwards in her chair like me. _When had I moved forwards?_ After seconds of staring at each other with narrowed eyes, I leant back, as did she, letting her hair drop limply back in her eyes, all traces of emotion gone.

I didn't like it.

I didn't like her 'empty' look.

I didn't like _her._

So I decided to piss her off further, because that's just what I do.

"You have a brother who refuses to go to rehab, but has a severe drug habit, so severe he's been admitted to hospital on many occasions but always escaped before they got him into a rehab. Your father left you and your mother when you were younger because he'd been having an affair with a prostitute, so you didn't know him very well. You had no breckfast this morning, and you're Mum doesn't know the medication is making you feel depressed. You've been schizophrenic your entire life, but weren't diagnosed until you were thirteen. Chances are, you haven't been going to this dump for a full three years, and you show all the signs of the aftershock of traumatic experience, so something bad must have happened to you when you were 15. Am I wrong?"

Her mouth, I noticed, had fallen open, and she was gawking at me like a goldfish, sat so close to the edge of her chair, that looked like it might tip if she moved any further forwards. Her hair had once again been swept to the side.

I shifted, as I waited for a sob, a shout or a slap.

But it never came.

Instead, she just watched me intently with large curious eyes as I looked anywhere but her penetrating gaze. It was unnerving. After some time, I couldn't take anymore of her staring.

"What?" I spat. She seemed to shake herself and return to reality, as she slouched back in her chair, with a slight smirk playing at the corners of her lips. I frowned.

"What!?" I repeated, moving to the edge of my chair.

"Nothing." She murmured secretly, pretending to admire her frankly disgusting nails.

"What." I snapped, she ignored me, that maddening smirk still toying with me.

"Stop. It." I ground out, grabbing for the hand she was fiddling with, and yanking the sleeve, so she'd look at me. She did.

Then opened her mouth to speak…

And said-

"Going by the conversations I've heard walking around the room, I think this has been a very successful activity! Now, if you could all make a circle and take your chairs with you, then we can share with the group." Don exclaimed.

I blinked.

She grinned at me smugly, before dragging her chair across the wooden floor agonisingly slowly. I stayed sitting. _What the hell…?_ Annoyance bubbled up inside me, as I too pulled my stupid midget chair over to the circle of idiots.

No one smiles at my deductions.

No one.

If they do, it always means I've missed something very obvious and simple, but with her I can t understand what it means. She's too distant and strange.

I couldn't get a seat next to Caroline, so talking to her was out of the question. Instead I ended up between a boy with bad acne and badly dyed hair, and a girl with cropped short blonde hair, and dead blue eyes.

I hated both of them.

Caroline was opposite me again, situated between an odd looking boy with green eyes, who was staring blankly out of the window at the rain, and another person who's face I couldn't see under their blanket of crimson hair.

I glowered at her.

And she completely ignored me.

Don started rattling on about some self-help tips, and 'other people who have been through this' whatever 'this' was.

Halfway through his speech, I remembered his name was Dan.

Halfway through another speech, I forgot it.

Then finally, after an eternity of Don whining on about something ridiculously insignificant, and the stupid group watching the floating dust dance as the sun peeped out from behind grey, cold clouds, we were dismissed.

Ignoring the strange girl opposite me, I copied everyone else, and stacked my chair in the corner close to DS boy, and _didn't_ follow her out of the room. I simply _happened_ to leave at the same time as her. And just _happened_ to accidently crash into her. And just _happened_ to irritate her… Well, a bit.

"Ow." She muttered, placing a hand on her forehead as she lay in a sprawled heap on the floor, with me in a pile of gangly limbs next to her.

"Look where you're going." I snapped, bouncing upright, but not leaving.

"Me? You were the one who decided to follow me!" She exclaimed, her hair still covering her face. I desperately fought the urge to push it aside.

"Me following _you_? Please. Don't flatter yourself." I spat sharply as she groggily stood up and lifted her head to look through her wall of hair.

Neither of us moved.

"Why were you smiling?" I snapped. She nearly rolled her eyes. Nearly.

"None of your business."

We stood next to each other, suddenly noticing how uncomfortable the situation had become, and how embarrassing and deafening the silence that flooded my ears was.

"Well. If you've finished stalking me, then I have to go." She said slightly awkwardly, moving to get past me, just as I _accidently_ moved and blocked her path. She tried again, and we bumped together.

"Sorry." She muttered, with a slight smirk gracing her lips, as she held my shoulders and stepped around.

"W-wait." I spluttered. She swirled to face me again, a few meters closer to the lift.

"I'm sorry I followed you." I muttered, looking at a spot below her. She shrugged, pressing the button for the ground floor.

"Will I see you next week?"

"Unfortunately, yes." She stepped into the elevator and turned to face me, letting her hair swing in her eyes again. I glanced at her quickly before the doors slid shut.

But not too quickly to miss the small smile that curved her lips.

**Hello. I have an apology to make… I didn't update when I promised I would ****L****I'm really sorry guys, and I really hope this chapter makes up for it, also I've given up with the whole 'updates every Sunday thing, because, I clearly can't stick to routines, and it's easier this way ****J****So updates will probably be every week or something along those lines. It just depends how busy I am.**

**Oh, and let me know what you think? I'm worried a lot of my similes aren't working too well, and I'm not sure I'm adding the right amount of description? Please let me know because it really helps ****J****Look out for chapter 5!**


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